‘Go on, Sonny,’ said Mrs. Rouse. ‘I’s your mother, go on.’
‘Spare him, nurse,’ said Haynes.
The nurse did not answer. She had her eyes fixed on the boy.
When he stood within a foot of her, she spoke to him.
‘So you reach. Oh, you want to go again?’
‘No, Mammy, no, Mammy.’
‘Oh, I see, I thought you wanted to go off again. You can go if you want to, you know. You staying or you going, tell me.’
‘I am staying, Mammy.’
She rose above him and he went flat down in the dust before her. She cut him across the shoulders and cut him again and again, and as he rolled screaming in the dirt she pointed to the door.
‘Go to the bedroom,’ she said, and anxious for even that short respite he ran inside.
She followed him.
Haynes locked his door, and overwhelmed with shame tried in vain to shut out the thud of the cane on the little body, the yells and screams, and the ‘Hush, I tell you, hush’ of his mother. He felt that he should have done something, that he should do something. At each blow he winced as if it had fallen on his own flesh. As he moved across the room he struck his damaged foot a sharp blow on the edge of the chair and a stab of pain struck him. Throwing himself on his bed he buried his face in the pillow and cried.
The screams were getting less but the blows were still falling. Good God, was she going to kill the child?
‘Hush, I tell you, hush. I will lick you until you hush.’ And Sonny hushed at last.
Haynes called Ella.
‘Get a room at once, Ella,’ he said. ‘I am going to leave here as soon as my foot is better.’
He would not stay a moment longer than was necessary in the same house with that woman. He dreaded the thought of seeing her again. Had his foot not been damaged (and also for Mrs. Rouse’s sake) he would have left at once. He should have saved Sonny. But what right had he to interfere? There were no laws about child-beating on the island. He thought of the long weal to the navel and shivered. Never did he want to see her again, never. He thought of his own peaceful childhood and limpid life in his mother’s house and wished that he could go back to it and never leave it again.
Chapter Six
But that very evening the nurse paid him a visit. As soon as it was dark she came. She knocked, waited a little, said it was the nurse, walked in, drew a chair to Haynes’s bedside and sat down.
‘Mr. Haynes, I waited until Ella was gone, because Ella seems to believe that you are her property. Sonny send to say good night and to apologize for his behaviour today. I suppose that you think me a cruel mother. But Sonny is my only child and all my hopes are on him. I’ll give him anything he wants and that a child should have, but he will obey me until he is a man for himself.’
‘Yes,’ murmured Haynes.
‘I have come to see that foot of yours. Let me feel your pulse. I believe you have some fever.’ She took a case from her pocket, opened it and drew out a thermometer.
‘Put this in your mouth. A simple bruise shouldn’t give so much trouble. If it were only a bruise it should have healed long ago. Yes. You have a temperature. Let me see the foot. Humph! Getting better? It’s festering below. This needs attention. It’s a good thing I came. Excuse me a minute.’
She returned with a small basin, bottles and cotton wool, and took charge of Haynes as if he were Sonny. He watched her. It was the first time that he had ever been so close to her.
She was very thin, thinner even than she appeared at a distance. She was to all appearances white, but the tell-tale finger-nails showed the coloured blood. She was somewhere in the thirties, in the late thirties, battered by life, but certainly of superior style and breeding to the others in the house. Not that Mrs. Rouse, for instance, was in any way vulgar. Not at all. But from the nurse’s deportment and speech, Haynes felt instinctively that she had been reared in surroundings different to her present position. Or perhaps her nurse’s training had helped to give a refined quality to her voice and manner. He noted again the extreme fairness of her complexion and her long, silky, almost golden, hair. If she had had money she would have been able to take her place with the white aristocracy, ninety-nine per cent. of whom had more coloured blood than she had. Benoit didn’t seem the type of man to attract her. He was very black, with no compensation of money, profession or personal charm to atone for the social and economic disadvantages of his black skin. He was a man as good as married: eighteen years he and Mrs. Rouse had lived together.
Life had left its mark upon her, in her weather-beaten body and hard style as much as in the fact that she, a professional woman with so fair a skin, lived openly and without shame in the house of these lowly black folk. And she was not only Benoit’s mistress. She was on the best of terms with the woman who was Benoit’s wife – as good as his wife. And now she had come into Haynes’s room, and taken charge of him, and having washed and bound his foot, gave him quinine, lowered his lamp and told him that it was time to go to bed. So that what with his illness and the excitement of the afternoon, Haynes merely did as he was told, and when she left lay in bed feeling curiously flattered.
It was only long after she had gone that Haynes recalled with a guilty start that the loathing which he had felt for her over the beating of Sonny had almost entirely disappeared.
After that the nurse came twice a day, morning and afternoon, to attend to Haynes. She talked easily, told him a lot about herself and extracted twice as much from him. She told Haynes that she was not a fully-certified nurse and still had her final examination to take. Her constant failure she attributed to the personal spite of an examining doctor at the hospital. She told him as easily as good morning that she had been engaged to be married to a doctor, who had seduced her and then deserted her. (But Ella said no: she had been wild from early, and Sonny was not her first-born.) Ella, in fact, displayed an open hostility to the nurse’s coming into the room at all, and it increased when the nurse began to bring in food for Haynes to eat. Haynes was feverish and had no appetite. And the nurse made egg-nogs and Mrs. Rouse boiled soups and baked custards and the nurse brought them in and insisted that Haynes should have them, and stood up over him and made him eat and drink, while Ella stood in the corner and scowled.
‘I cannot understand, sir, how that foot can’t get better. That nurse, sir, she is a dangerous woman. It’s not good to have anything to do with that kind of person, sir.’
Haynes ate the custard one evening, and next morning Ella told him that she had got a room. He could move at once if he wanted.
But Haynes told her that the nurse was so kind, and Mrs. Rouse also, that he didn’t very well see how he could clear out, even before his foot was better. It wouldn’t look well.
‘Kind, sir. That isn’t kindness. They are both of them up to something.’
He was not altogether surprised, therefore, when the nurse wrote him a note one morning asking him to lend her two dollars till later in the day. A postscript to the note asked him to ‘destroy as soon as he had read contents of same.’
Haynes sent the two dollars and destroyed the note.
That night she brought the two dollars back. She gave it to him in an envelope with thanks and a little apology for having had to ask.
‘Why I asked you to tear up the note was because Ella has a habit of going into your drawer when you are not here, taking out your private letters and reading them. And as you can understand, I didn’t want everybody to know that I had asked you that favour.’
He was further enlightened the next morning. Ella had got to know of the little transaction.
‘The nurse borrow money from you and pay you back. But be careful, sir. Next time she comin’ for more, sir, and this time she ain’t goin’ to pay you back. You don’t know the tricks of these people, sir.’
The next time she came the nurse, after a little general conversation, suddenly broke out with:
‘You know, Mr. Haynes, since you have
come here all of us like you very much.’
She washed the wound with dioxygen, delicately but firmly, holding down the leg with one hand. Haynes had some little experience of medical attendance and she was very good at her work – firm and yet not inconsiderate. She threw the piece of cotton into the yellow mixture in the bowl and paused, looking him in the face.
‘You can see that.’
He gave a foolish smile.
Perhaps it was because he was not in full health, but he had to pull himself together.
‘And we see, too, that you like us. Mrs. Rouse and I were talking it over and we were wondering if you would care to board with us.’
But Haynes was not quite so weak as all that.
‘It’s very nice of you both, nurse, and I am sure it would be a suitable arrangement, but that would mean giving up Ella, and she has been with me too long for me to do that. I am afraid—’
‘No, Ella will be all right. A doctor at the hospital last week asked me for a cook and if I recommend Ella she will get the job. And Mrs. Rouse like Ella a lot. She could sack Wilhelmina and give Ella her job.’
‘Ella wouldn’t accept any such offer.’
‘She is a good girl,’ the nurse went on, ‘but she is wasteful, Mr. Haynes. You keep no check on her and—’
‘You must not say things against Ella’s honesty, nurse, and she is not wasteful.’ The nurse never flinched.
‘I know she is honest, Mr. Haynes. Oh! I know that. And that she will do anything for you. We know that, too; we were talking about it only last night and how lucky you were to have her. But, as I said, you needn’t lose her. And it would come much cheaper to you.’
Haynes shook his head.
‘And then you will be helping us, too,’ the nurse continued smoothly. ‘Mrs. Rouse is a great cook, can make nice pastries, etc. And to tell you the truth things are not too good with her, and the little boarding will come in very handy to us. Where I am now I owe her some money and I am looking everywhere for somebody to lend me fifteen dollars.’
This was a home shot. Haynes had intended to give an outright no to the boarding scheme, but shaken by the fifteen dollars hint, he temporized by saying he would think the matter over.
Late that night he was reading when he heard a knock at his door.
‘Who is it?’
‘Miss Atwell,’ replied a whisper.
‘Come in,’ said Haynes.
Miss Atwell was small, and looked very small, though wrapped in an extensive old kimono. She was nearing fifty, her face sharp and lined, but her eyes keen and alert. This was his first sight of her, but Haynes could see that she was one of those who did not wait for tomorrow but went to meet it.
‘And how is the foot, sir?’
‘Coming round at last.’
A withering disgust showed in her vivacious and mobile features.
‘Mr. Haynes,’ she whispered, ‘I don’t want to say anything unsociable, but if you’ foot had less attention, it would ’ave been better by now. I don’t believe in all this oxygen and washin’. A little boric powder. That’s all, sir. A little boric powder. But what I wants to let you know is this. And I hopes you will take no offence where none is intended. And I know that you is a gentleman and this will go no further. But them people,’ she pointed towards the Rouse household, ‘them people is a set of thieves and liars. They wants to put you against Ella. I hasn’t been listenin’ to all that the nurse been tellin’ you about Ella. But don’t believe a word they say. They wants to get you to board and then rob you. Have nothing to do with them. They does nothing but sit and conspire how to get you into their clutches. When she is talkin’ to you in here, be careful. She is talkin’ very unsuspectin’, but all the time she is crosspickin’ you to find out you’ business. They see you look soft, Mr. Haynes, and they wants to jostle you, but they can’t fool me. Have nothing to do with them, Mr. Haynes. I is Ella’s friend and your friend. Good night, Mr. Haynes.’
Before Haynes could say a word she had retired as suddenly as she had come.
Chapter Seven
Haynes decided that he would give a very prompt and definite no to any further attempts of the nurse and Mrs. Rouse to substitute themselves for Ella – if any such plan was in progress. But the nurse’s attack never came to a head. The next afternoon she received a sudden call and left to take up duty. She came hurriedly in very late one night, saying that she had to take her examination the following day. But she left the examination room to go back to her patient, sending to say that she had done well, expected to pass this time, and would be home on Friday afternoon. Haynes, meanwhile, had got better and gone out to work. But he spent most of his leisure time at home resting his foot. As soon as he finished work on Friday he returned to No. 2, to be met by Ella with the news that the nurse and Mr. Benoit were carrying on and Ma Rouse had found out and the nurse was coming home that afternoon, and Ma Rouse was waiting for her to come to put her out. She was going to be put out that very day. Ella and Miss Atwell and Maisie had packed the nurse’s clothes and had dressed Sonny. When the nurse came she would get her walking ticket.
‘Listen, sir, listen. They are plannin’ a ’laborate ceremony.’
‘Very well, Ella. Go outside and close my door, please.’ Ella being dismissed Haynes removed his pillow from the top of his bed to the bottom, fixed his elbows on it and glued his eyes to his peephole, which he had enlarged and arranged (and camouflaged) so as to command a wide and comprehensive view of the whole yard. The others went about their work as usual, but Mrs. Rouse, with red eyes, which she wiped every few seconds, sat on the little bench. Miss Atwell, in a clean print dress and her hair combed in some tight little plaits which sharpened her face more than ever, for two or three minutes sat next to her, then walked up and down the yard talking and gesticulating.
‘Now, Ma Rouse, do as I tell you. Don’t lose you’ temper. When you lose you’ temper, you lose you’ head; and when you lose you’ head, you lose all. Tell her all that you have to tell her. It’s you’ privilege to do so. But don’t lose you’ temper. Show her that you is as good a lady as she is.’
‘Don’t be afraid for me, Miss Atwell,’ said Mrs. Rouse. ‘I am as good a lady as the nurse any day. And I would scorn to do what she has done.’
‘Handsome is as handsome do,’ said Miss Atwell. ‘Ma Rouse, when you discovered—’
Maisie came running through the space between the house and the kitchen.
‘Miss A., Miss A., the bailiff and Mr. Brown coming down Victoria Street.’
‘Jesus in Heaven. Thank you, child,’ said Miss Atwell, and almost as she spoke her door slammed.
‘Everybody to work,’ said Mrs. Rouse. ‘Maisie, you go inside. Miss A.,’ she called in a low voice, ‘don’t be afraid, I will fix everything.’
But minutes passed and the bailiff did not come. Nobody came. Wilhelmina was sent to investigate, and returned to say that she had been up the road and down the road, but had seen no one and had met no one who had seen the bailiff. Mrs. Rouse herself looked down the alley and spoke to a neighbour. No one had seen the bailiff. Maisie, examined and questioned, stoutly maintained that she had seen the two of them coming down the road. But nobody believed her. Mrs. Rouse threatened her with a licking, and Miss Atwell had just opened her door a second time when Philomen cried:
‘Look! The nurse.’
For days after, the scene was discussed from every angle and aspect.
When Philomen said, ‘Look, the nurse,’ everybody fell back as if by instinct and left a clear path for her to advance to Mrs. Rouse. She came forward, unsuspecting, to embrace and kiss Mrs. Rouse as usual.
‘Ma Rouse, I am back,’ she said.
Mrs. Rouse stood erect and waiting, and made no move towards her. Even then, the nurse suspected nothing; only when Miss Atwell said, ‘Keep you’ temper, Ma Rouse,’ she looked up at her with a puzzled expression. Then she looked at Mrs. Rouse and realized that something was wrong and what it was. She stopped dead.
Her pale face went a blotched yellow. She took one swift glance around her and her eyes came to rest on Mrs. Rouse’s face and stayed there, never flinching.
‘We have come to the parting of the ways, nurse,’ said Mrs. Rouse with consummate dignity. ‘You will not sleep in my house tonight. You coming to kiss me the kiss of Judas. I have received many of them from you. But no more, nurse, no more. I forgave you once, but not again.’
The nurse had recovered her self-command – if she had ever lost it for more than a second.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ she said. ‘If there is anything wrong choose a proper time and place and we can discuss it.’
‘I don’t want to hear anything from you. It’s no use your denying it. I want no argument, no discussion. Your clothes are all packed in your basket and in parcels. Your son has been washed and dressed. Take him with you when you go. The little pieces of furniture that belong to you you can have any time that you want. But you must leave my house this minute. I don’t want any words with you, but you have been carrying on clandestine meetings with my husband, clandestine meetings—’
‘He is not your husband,’ said the nurse.
From some unseen spot Maisie laughed, slightly shrill but very musical, with the detached appreciation of a disinterested spectator. The nurse’s lips trembled in a smile and Mrs. Rouse’s temper snapped. She sprang at her enemy.
‘By God, woman. You think you are going to stand before me and tell me what you like, you—’ The sentence ended in a stream of confused obscenity, Miss Atwell and Philomen rushing to hold back Mrs. Rouse.
The nurse tripped lightly up the steps and came back at once with Sonny and her parcels.
‘Keep you’ temper, Ma Rouse, keep you’ temper,’ Miss Atwell counselled and held Mrs. Rouse by the arm.
‘Madam, let her go in peace,’ said Philomen, and held her by the other arm.
The nurse walked away. But just as she was about to turn into the passage between the house and the hedge she stopped, and looking round at everyone, she said:
Minty Alley Page 4
